Dawn of the Night
by Wings of the Raven
Summary: AH. Alex, aka Max is a hunted criminal. She lives in fear and poverty, acting as a spy for the rich Mr. Chross. Please no flames, only my second story, still getting the hang of everything.


Dawn of the Night

Chapter One:

Alex's footsteps rang out in the dark street. Thump, thump, thump. She had her hood pulled tightly over her head, but you could still see a lock of golden hair sticking out from under her jacket. She was dressed in all black, and she walked carefully, keeping her face hidden in the shadows. It had rained earlier in the evening, for the street was shimmering in the dark. Alex picked up her pace, and kept her head down, trying to avoid the street lamps. She stopped suddenly, and stepped into an alleyway. She walked up to the last door, and knocked four times, quick, quick, long, slap. She waited, shivering, and at last the door opened, and she stepped inside.

Alex pulled off her slightly damp hoodie, and threw it onto the jacket post that was standing next to the door. She greeted the person who had opened the door with a slight nod, and continued down the dark hall. She reached a door with the name "CHROSS" written on it, and let herself in, closing the door behind her. She walked up to the desk and cleared her throat, waiting for the high backed chair to turn around. When it did, man with graying hair sat there, his glasses perched low on his nose. He had a narrow face, and must had been handsome once, but now his face was marred with ugly scars and his once straight nose had been broken, most likely more than once. He had cold gray eyes, hunched shoulders, and a hungry look in his eyes. Alex looked at him, and with an inward shudder, she said, "It has been done,"  
He looked at her, and asked in a soft, dangerous tone, "Are you sure of it?" she nodded briskly and his eyes narrowed. "Dismissed." he snapped at her, and she turned and left the office.

Alex climbed the stairs silently, and crossed the loft, and walked all the way down the hall to her small room. She opened the door, let herself in, and quickly shut it again. It was a pitiful excuse for a room, with a threadbare quilt on the tiny cot, and a small backpack in the corner with a chair next to a small desk placed by the window. Sure, it was bad, but it was better than living in the streets. She traded her services to the man, while he provided board, food, and protection. She ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, untangling it from being under her damp hood for so long. Alex sat down on the cot, and pulled the bag towards her. Inside it had a few pounds that her master had undoubtedly placed in it for her for her last mission. She scooped it up, and was pleased to find that he had raised her pay by two shillings. She placed the coins into a small leather pouch she kept hidden in the bag, and straightened up. She quickly changed into her nightgown, ready for bed, as Master would surely have another task for her in the morning.

When Alex awoke the next morning, there was frost on the window pane. She quickly dressed, trying to avoid the cold. She slipped her pale blue jacket on, and crept down the stairs. She walked into the servants' quarters, where she was always served her meals. Her status in the Chross house was just above the servants, not to be treated like salves, but still ignored until needed. Betsy, a cheerful red-head, served Alex her breakfast, a roll, fruit, and cold ham. Alex was served the leftovers of Master and his friends, while the servants made and cooked their own food. She ate the food gratefully, and gladly accepted a cup of steaming coffee from Betsy. When she had finished her meal, she thanked them, and left the house. The day after she came back from assignments was always free days. She walked around London, popping into a small thrift store that her friend Sarah owned. They chatted over tea, and at 4:30 Alex said, "I'm sorry, I really have to go." Sarah saw her to the door, and Alex started the return trip to the Chross's place. Sarah was the only other person it London who knew what she did, besides Mr. Chross. She didn't approve, but didn't speak of it much. Not even his wife knew of her job. The Mistress just thought she was a daughter of a friend whose family had died, and Mr. Chross had taken her in.

Alex hunched her shoulders, shivering in the cold. Though it was almost spring, London's weather could be brutal, anytime of the year. She walked faster, wanting to get out of the cold. If she had the money to spare, she would have taken a cab, but that was not the only reason she walked to her destinations. Mr. Chross would be furious if she revealed his home. Not many knew her at all, for her disguises she often wore when she left the house. Her ordinary hair and figure were not what gave her away. When she walked, Alex always kept her head down. Her eyes were a brilliant blue most of the time, but they changed with her mood. Sometimes they were a swirl of colors, making people remember her. And those who saw her eyes, well, they were usually the last thing they ever saw.

Alex walked quickly and with purpose, like many of the other pedestrians. She finally ducked into the ally where the Chrosses lived. She knocked, and Nathaniel, the man servant, let her in. She walked quickly down the hall, knowing that she was late for her appointment. As she opened the door, she had to duck to avoid the paperweight that came flying towards her. "LATE!" Mr. Chross screamed. She lowered her head and narrowed her eyes, and bowed to him.

He was still fuming, but composed himself. "Do you know of the Count of Calabar?" Alex nodded. "Find out about his company, and report back to me. And if you ever late again, you will not survive my wrath." He handed Alex a thick stack of files and she left the office.

Once upstairs, Alex placed the files on the desk, lit a candle, and got to work. Her head was bent low over the papers, and she read the cramped, smudged handwriting with great difficulty. A couple of hours later, she heard the stairs creak, and a door open and close, but she paid it no heed. She kept working, deciphering the notes, and occasionally jotting down her own comments or notes in a leather bound book she kept near. The candle light flickered, and she squinted at the crinkled paper. Finally, when the moon was gone, and the sky was pink, she finished. Alex tucked the leather book into her bag, between two dresses, and crept down the rickety stairs. She made her way over to the fireplace, and threw the files onto the fire started. She reached up, and took the box of matches down from the fireplace. After it was lit, she tossed it onto the files, watching as they burned. Soon, there the files were nothing left but a pile of ashes. And by the next full moon, so would Count Calabar.

She tip-toed into the kitchen, and helped herself to a muffin and coffee. When she finished her simple breakfast, she went upstairs to change into her disguise that had chosen for her. She was to be a maid, and her costume consisted of a simple black frock, white apron, long overcoat, and hat to cover her blonde curls. Alex left the house, even before the servants awoke to light the fires.

Her boots were soaked within a minute of her leaving to house. It was raining heavily, but Alex like it better that way. With the pouring rain, nobody noticed that a maid was walking alone in the street, let alone one with strange eyes. Her journey took her across London, to the richest neighborhood. Here the houses stood grand and tall, and she couldn't help but gape at the majestic looking houses. When she reached the end of the street, the numbers were going up. In no time at all, Alex had found the house 45. It was a brick Victorian, and its chimneys were puffing with smoke, so she knew that the maids were awake. She walked up the long drive, and stood on the porch, ready to knock, when she saw a glimmer of gold. She glanced down, and saw that the door handle was made of solid gold. Alex rolled her eyes, and wondered why anybody would spend so much money on a handle. She knocked, and almost immediately the door opened, revealing a shriveled old woman. "Ah, you must be the new girl," she stated. "Come in, its freezing outside, and you're soaked to the bone." Alex stepped into the grand entrance, and gaped. The hall was completely made of marble, and the stairs were glittering, as if they were studded with diamonds. Which, she reminded herself, they probably were. The lady laughed at her astonishment, and said, "Come with me, and I will show you the ropes."

Alex went with her, and was slightly surprised. Mr. Chross had done his share of the work for once; he had made sure she would be accepted into the household. The lady, who had introduced herself as Ms. Granger, led her to the kitchens. "You'll be the under-maid," Ms. Granger explained. "You are to help everyone with their chores." She stopped, and turned to Alex. "Ego sum in vestry pars. Ego teneo quare vos es hic. Operor non timeo. Fides mihi." Alex looked at her in disbelief.

"Si vos es in meus pars, quis est ianua infligo?" Alex asked suspiciously.

"Velox, velox, porro, plaga."

Alex was still not reassured. She had been raised on the streets, and her nature was not to trust anybody. "Qua est suus domus?"

"In quartus plaga, refer via septem, permaneo ianua down."

She broke into a wary smile. "I thought I was going to have to go this alone," she said to Ms. Granger in English. Ms. Granger opened her mouth to reply, but they both heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen. "Ut vos es privates ex exercitation quinque opportunus mihi procul plaga quattuor, refer via 6, secundus ianua." She hissed. Alex saw a shadow turn the corner, and said loudly, "Thank ye, Ms. Granger." The figure turned the corner, and walked up to the two.

"GET TO WORK!" he shouted, and walked into the kitchens, probably to go look for somebody to yell at. Ms. Granger patted her on the pack and whispered, "I have to go, and the young Mistress should be waking up in a moment. Anne will help you. She's in the kitchen." And with that, she ran off, towards the grand staircase.

Alex turned to walk into the kitchen when she bumped into a young woman, carrying a bundle of groceries. "Oh thank the Lord, you must be the new girl to help me," she cried. "I'm Anne. You'll be helping me with the groceries and such. Since the baby was born, I've had so much to do!" Anne put the bundles down and extended her hand to shake. Alex took it, surprised at this girl's cheerful attitude.

Anne was a nice, energetic young woman, who dreamed to travel to the New World with her beau, Justin. Her constant chatter filled the kitchen, making it warm and cozy. By noon, Alex knew almost everything about her. She dreamed to become a governess, and her worst fear was that she and her beau would die on their trip to the New World. Alex enjoyed her company, and the two happily chatting until the dinner bell rang, dismissing the workers for their noon meal.

She straightened up, stretching luxuriously after crouching over the young mistresses' new ball gowns. Alex finished the last stitch, and folded up the silky turquoise frock, complete with frills and petticoats. Anne was half-way to the door when she noticed that Alex wasn't following her. "What are you doing? It's dinner!" Anne grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. Alex allowed the other girl to pull her up and they walked towards the servants' dining hall together.

After a good meal of bean porridge, fresh milk, grilled pork, and fried apples and onions, the two returned to the kitchen. Alex reached for the basket of mending and embroidery, but Anne pulled her away. "No silly, after dinner we do the masters' laundry, and then we clean the girls' rooms. Mending and sewing is for the mornings." Anne sent Alex to the North Wing to pick up the laundry while she headed off to the South Wing. "The laundry should be outside each door. Put everything in here," she thrust a wicker basket into Alex's hands. She walked down the long hall, hoping that Count Calabar's study was in this wing. The files had contained no map or blueprints of the manor, it was much to secretive.

She walked by at least six rooms before she reached the end of the hallway, which, to her dismay, continued down to the left. Most of the clothing she had picked up was still clean, barely worn, and not yet soiled. The seventh door down the hall was marked, "C. Calabar". Alex slipped into the room and gaped. If she thought the grand hall was big, this was amazing. Nothing she had ever seen was so big. Show shook her head, clearing it of all thoughts of awe. She headed over to the desk, and flipped through the files, finding Calabar Co. The particular file was thick, and promising.

She picked it up and as she did so, a picture fell to the ground; she bent to pick it up, and noticed that it was a painting of a young woman with saucy blonde curls, and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing a hat that was perched crookedly on her hair, and a long black overcoat was draped over her slim frame. Her eyes were focused on something off the portrait, and she seemed older than she really was. With a wave of understanding, she gasped. It was her.


End file.
